This is your invitation to share a time when a hymn had special meaning for you.

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My last day of work at the Virginia House of Delegates, it was. Yes, I had been coming up here to the capital in Richmond for 6 years. . . before, during and after the legislative sessions. It was a ‘part of the year’ position, 4 to 6 months. You had to be recommended by someone who already worked there in order to be invited to work there. It was such a quirk that I ended up doing this since I am really almost apolitical.

As a volunteer patient representative wearing the characteristic pink jacket, I walked into a hospital room one day and nobody was in the bed. A young woman was sitting at the table writing. She looked up and identified herself as the patient. We quickly had a nice conversation.

Then she said, “I think you could do my job, over at the House of Delegates.” She explained a bit about it and said I could use her name as a recommendation if I wanted to go over there and inquire about it. I was at the University Hospital which was very close to the capital. Why not, I thought. It wouldn’t hurt to check into it.

After I was hired, I was trained to do indexing. One had to quickly read the bill and compose a summary for it after which it would be added to the index of all the bills that were in the pipeline. Then, any citizen could look up any bill and see what it is about.

It was feast or famine. During times of heavy work or ‘feast’ we were asked to agree at the outset that we would stay late into the night if necessary to get everything done before session the next day. During famines we would have to be on hand and had to keep busy on our own. I always brought my check book to balance, bills to pay or a book to read. I have to laugh when I think that I learned to knit during one of these lulls at the Virginia House of Delegates. There were about 7 or 8 of us in the indexing area, and we would discuss all kinds of things and got to know each other pretty well. Sometimes I was invited to offer prayer before our special pot lucks or other little celebrations in the indexing room.

Then I moved down the hall and did enrolling and engrossing, that is, work the new amendment wording into the bills and then enroll it into law. We proofread a lot with a partner, reading out loud long passages to each other to make sure it was exact, as passed by the House.

Then for a few years I went over and had my work area right inside the chamber. We would make sure the bills were placed on the desks of the delegates, run back and forth, carrying bills, quite a long list of duties. At the end of the session, I told my immediate superior that I wanted to stay long enough to finish a handbook of all the forms I had learned to use, and just in what sequence each of them should be used, so it would be easier for the next person who would follow me. I finished it early in the afternoon of my last day, and my supervisor gave me a nice going away gift.

It was kind of a let down and I decided to go down the street a while where all the stores were before I retrieved the car and went on home. It was kind of a subdued feeling I had, a little blue. I felt a little out of my element there on the Clerk’s staff. I had much more trust in God than I did in politics. Most of the staff people and interns were totally turned on by the environment, the fact that we were invited to huge events sponsored by lobbyists, invited to the governor’s mansion, and met different well known politicians in the elevator. I remember when I had my work spot right there in the House chamber, one of the women delegates slipped in there and shed a few tears out of sight of the other legislators when one of her encounters on the ‘floor’ was more than she could take. There was still a lot of racial tension and stories that made the rounds for the gossip networks. What did I accomplish being there, I thought. What good did I do for eternal values? I couldn’t point to much.

I passed the big shoe store with long aisles up and down. So I stopped in. In mid-afternoon nobody was in there. The young African American clerk was at the front by the cash register and a friend apparently had stopped by and they were talking. I lost myself looking at the hundreds of shoes displayed on the long aisles.

I was toward the back and all of a sudden I heard the words to a Psalm I had learned in grade school. Our teacher had helped us memorize several of the Psalms and we spoke them for the PTA meeting as a speaking choir. (Yes, this was a public school, but even then the teacher was very courageous in finding a way to instill valuable truths in her students.) The shoe store clerk was quoting one of those songs as written by David the shepherd who composed many of the Psalms. The young man wasn’t singing it, because we have no record of the ancient tunes. He was almost preaching the words to his friend, very animated and inspired with his voice raised.

He didn’t know it but it was for me too that he was quoting this special passage that I had memorized long ago. I stopped in my tracks and listened intently, the words rolling over me like a cool shower bringing comfort and a deep breath as I stood among the shoe boxes. I knew it was a poignant reminder from Jesus himself, given to me as a gift that afternoon.

Here is what I heard.

Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful.

(Father God, this is the kind of person I have tried to be.)

But his delight is in the law of the Lord; and in his law doth he meditate day and night.

(Do you remember, Jesus, the verse I typed up and put on the bulletin board above my desk? “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord.” And then one day someone had taken it down?)

And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season;

(Lord, you are saying to me that maybe I don’t see any fruit from my life now, but in the right season, it will be there.)

his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper.

(What a marvelous promise, Lord! Thank you!)

The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away.

(Thank you Father, God, that you have planted me on solid ground and my life won’t be waste material that would blow away in the wind.)

Therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous.

(Thank you for cleaning me up and allowing me a place in your congregation; that is where I most want to be.)

For the Lord knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish.

(Thank you, God, that you loved the world so much that you gave your only begotten son and caused me to believe in Him and not perish but have everlasting life.)

Mother was always busy on Saturdays getting her Sunday School opening service ready. This occurred about the first 20 minutes on Sunday Morning for the whole congregation but especially the children. Afterward, everyone would proceed to their individual classes. She would be highly focused, making posters with art pens and paints or something else to help illustrate the point she wanted to make.

One time she discovered a woman in the church who whistled beautifully and could make lovely bird calls. A plan developed. Next Sunday a soloist would sing the song “His Eye is On the Sparrow,” and the whistler would add beautiful bird sounds above her singing voice. The whistler would be at a microphone back behind the platform out of sight. A ‘sparrow’ created by Mother would be brought in to sit beside the soloist and appear to be the one whistling.

When the time came, Mother explained to the congregation that the sparrow itself was going to be heard from this morning at church. While the soloist would sing, the sparrow would be accompanying her.

Mother covered me in a costume of crepe paper and dressed me up as a sparrow with wings and a bill and everything. I could see out where they cut holes for my eyes. I was perched on a little dolly. Someone pulled me out across the platform beside the soloist. When the whistling behind stage began, I moved my head as if the sparrow itself was doing the whistling.

The children were spellbound. The adults already knew the words to that song and were were smiling at this unusual demonstration. But they were also very moved at this beautiful musical reminder that, yes, our God is the one who sees us and knows us intimately. . . and loves us more than we can really comprehend, and we can rest assured he will take care of us at all times.

People outside of our area noted Mother’s opening services on Sunday mornings, because some years later, she was asked to repeat the sparrow event for the national Sunday School Convention in Springfield, Missouri. Again I was dressed up as the sparrow, and again people responded, as they were reassured that we have a God who sees us, loves us, and watches over us.

A Hymn to Help

This song has helped so many people so many times. It has been sung by the famous Ethel Waters and George Beverly Shea. No doubt it has been hummed in many homes and remembered tearfully through many struggles. It has backing in the scriptures and is stated so beautifully in Matthew 10 and Matthew 6.

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care.And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?

The phone call was from the Rector, Dr. Bailey. They needed help with the music on a Sunday and were going down the American Guild of Organists list of possible substitutes where my name was listed. They were located in the town of Tappahannock, about an 60 miles or so from Richmond on the Rappahannock River. Also, the Bishop was to visit them which made it doubly difficult with no organist. It captured my attention and stirred my compassion. I agreed literally to go the extra mile.

Rather than travel so much in bad weather, we decided that I would go on Saturday afternoon, work with the choir, and stay the night in the parish house. Little did I know what a memorable experience it would be.

I gathered music and an overnight bag and headed out Saturday afternoon on Highway 360. It was a pleasant drive, but the approach to the little town kind of took my breath away. As I took the bridge across the River, I could see the lovely church on the other side, traditional vertical siding of English Gothic style of the most picturesque of the Episcopal churches. I drove up and went inside the church, and met the Rector, an older, dignified, man. He introduced me to the choir, a small and faithful group ready to do whatever I said. They were so o o o thankful that I came, and it made my time with them the most pleasant.

After a good workout and planning with the choir, I got familiar with the organ and practiced awhile until was time to go next door to the parish house. It was cold outside, but they had a blazing fire going in the fireplace. Mrs. Bailey was preparing supper. She was like a lovely storybook character with her British accent, full of kindness, the lines in her face where smiles had occurred. They both welcomed me to their cozy little house. Then the Rector asked if I would like some sherry before the meal. How unusual, I thought, that the minister would offer an alcoholic drink. This all has to do with the way I was raised. But I knew this was part of their best hospitality they were offering me, so we shared a glass of wine and had an easy conversation about things that we had in common. When it was time to eat, we gathered around the fire and ate on folding trays, and the soup was delicious. Everything about it was delightful and homey and surpassed my expectations.

When I went upstairs to the tiny comfortable room prepared for me, they had one last surprise. Almost unnoticed, on the shelves full of interesting books, was a miniature vase with little white flowers in it. I touched them and they were real and this was January. Later, Mrs. Bailey gave me the story. They are snowdrops. And they will come up through the snow! They grow in the parish yard and around the big tree out there.

Everything went well the next day. The Bishop was there, music was lovely, and everyone happy about the day, and no one would have known the challenge that preceded it. How glad I was that I said yes!

A Hymn to Help

After that I became a somewhat permanent substitute. They called again when they had a special challenge at the time of the Easter season. That was when I learned more of the beautiful hymns from the Episcopal tradition that they loved. I began to love them too. Most memorable for me is the hymn “I Bind Unto Myself Today,” a hymn about getting close to our God. I love the idea of binding myself closely together with the strong Name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. There is a departure from the song toward the end which goes into another melody in a major key. In it, I recognized Grandma Clark’s words as she used to pray for us. She must have known this hymn from her earlier days, because she would pray protection over us asking that God be over us, under us, all around us, just like the words here.

I bind unto myself today
The strong Name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same,
The Three in One and One in Three.

I bind this day to me for ever.
By power of faith, Christ’s incarnation;
His baptism in the Jordan river;
His death on Cross for my salvation;
His bursting from the spicèd tomb;
His riding up the heavenly way;
His coming at the day of doom;
I bind unto myself today.

I bind unto myself today
The power of God to hold and lead,
His eye to watch, His might to stay,
His ear to hearken to my need.
The wisdom of my God to teach,
His hand to guide, His shield to ward,
The word of God to give me speech,
His heavenly host to be my guard.

Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

I bind unto myself the Name,
The strong Name of the Trinity;
By invocation of the same.
The Three in One, and One in Three,
Of Whom all nature hath creation,
Eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
Praise to the Lord of my salvation,
Salvation is of Christ the Lord.

Here is a nice rendition of this hymn by the Corpus Christi Male Chorale.

St. John’s Episcopal Church in the town of Tappahannock is located in the heart of historic Tidewater area. Situated on the south side of the Rappahannock River, it was built in 1849 and is the only purely Gothic Revival structure in the County.

When I saw her shoes, I sure wanted some just like hers with the white straps coming up around the ankles. When we managed to find a pair of shoes as much like hers as possible, Mother went along with it and got them for me. Virginia had a refined sense of humor. Very funny. She used words that fired the imagination and the funny bone like when we were in a tiny town in Nebraska and couldn’t find the family reunion. “We come all the way from Oregon, and now here we are ‘hurtling’ up and down Main Street trying to find it,” was the way she described it.

After I grew up, we would go by Portland any time we were close and would visit with her and Uncle Warren. First we would peruse her exquisite antique shop attached to the house. Her taste and knowledge was notable. Uncle would work on the antiques in the room at the back of the elongated shop. He could be a bit gruff with the customers–kind of the John Wayne type only much more handsome. Therefore, Aunt Virginia stated that he is President of the Back Room and she is President of the Front.

One day when I was there with her, I saw a darling curved leg writing desk in the shop. They were getting older, I mused. How much longer would they have the shop? Maybe I should buy a piece that Warren had worked on and Virginia had selected herself. It would be memorable for me. So, now as I write, I can look at the small desk and still love it as much as when I first saw it as I think of her.

It had always concerned me down through the years that Virginia didn’t declare that she knew the Lord. They didn’t attend church, didn’t speak about the Christian life. I knew she idolized her older brother, Elmond, a dedicated minister and servant of Jesus. She was raised by an alcoholic father, who at age 50 had a miraculous turnaround when he accepted Jesus and served as a minister until in his 80’s. That was my Granddad Clark.

When our families would get together, we would always sing around the piano, and I noticed in those later years it became a habit that Aunt Virginia would request us to sing two songs. The Wonder of It All, sung so well by George Beverly Shea, and I Believe in Miracles. Cousin Loren had sung both of them many times in the past as solos. So we would always sing those for her. Now that I am writing this, I notice that the theme of both of them is the saving grace of Jesus. This speaks to me even now.

When I heard that she was diagnosed with a life threatening illness, I hated it. I didn’t want to face it, so I waited months without contacting her. Then one day I knew I must call her and tell her how much she had meant to me. I explained that why I didn’t call sooner was that I didn’t want to confront the fact that her life was threatened. It was a good conversation.

After the two of them moved into assisted living, I flew out once again to Portland. What a happy surprise when it turned out to be a mini-reunion with a little group of us cousins coming together to see her. Very shortly after I got there, Aunt Virginia asked me something about being ready to go…regarding her last journey. We had a short conversation. Did she ask God for forgiveness for the wrongs she had committed in her life? “Oh hundreds of times!” she responded. Then I assured her that was all she needed to do. It is so comforting to me now that we talked about this.

We had a wonderful time all of us together. We had to go down to the large reception area by the piano and have our group sing. Other residents gathered around and began to request hymns or other songs they would like to sing. One more time we sang Aunt Virginia’s favorites for her.

Hymns That Help

The Wonder of It All

There’s the wonder of sunset at evening,
The wonder as sunrise I see;
But the wonder of wonders that thrills my soul
Is the wonder that God loves me.

Refrain
O, the wonder of it all! The wonder of it all!
Just to think that God loves me.
O, the wonder of it all! The wonder of it all!
Just to think that God loves me.

There’s the wonder of springtime and harvest,
The sky, the stars, the sun;
But the wonder of wonders that thrills my soul
Is a wonder that’s only begun.

I Believe in Miracles

Creation shows the power of God
There’s glory all around
And those who see Him stand in awe
For miracles abound

Refrain
I believe in miracles
I’ve seen a soul set free
Miraculous the change in one
Redeemed through Calvary
I’ve seen the lily push its way
Up through the stubborn sod
I believe in miracles
For I believe in God.

I cannot doubt the work of God
It’s plain for all to see
The miracles that He has wrought
Should lead to Calvary

The love of God, oh power divine
‘Tis wonderful to see
The miracle of grace performed
Within the heart of me

At the funeral, we sang them again. . . for her and for ourselves, as we celebrated Aunt Virginia’s life. I am reassured that Aunt Virginia made her last journey well, and we will see her again in our heavenly home.

It was a venerable neighborhood Catholic church in Wichita and my first paid organ position after finishing college.

For a person raised in the evangelical tradition, it was very much a new experience. In my growing up years, we gave wide berth to anything Catholic. There was a loud bell like the recess bell at school that would sound out and give me a start, signaling when the bread and wine was actually turning into the blood and body of Jesus. The young director would roll his eyes when the priest was singing knowing how impossible it was for the choir to get the correct pitch from his singing and continue on through the liturgy. There was a big drape hiding the statue of Jesus at the front during Lent, so that on Easter Morning it would be triumphantly removed. This had to be good for the children to help dramatize our Lord’s resurrection, I thought.

Every Sunday the Latin was sung and the same words were used. They would ask for mercy from God…. Kyrie eleison, (Lord have mercy), Christe eleison, (Christ have mercy). I had studied the parts of the Mass, the Kyrie, the Gloria, and all. Even as the statues in the darkened church when no one else was around felt a bit spooky to me, neither had we put that much emphasis on asking for mercy from God in my growing up years. However, this time at the Catholic church was to add an important dimension to my life experience.

The congregation was in the throes of transition at that time, changing from Latin to English for the Mass and learning new music…hymns. The young choir director would rush downstairs on Sunday mornings before Mass began and lead the congregation in the hymn they would be singing that day. They never sang hymns before…that was a Protestant thing. The favorite new hymn and best standby for the congregation was Holy, Holy, Holy. They sang it often.

Since I was invited to join them downstairs for weekly coffee after Mass, I began to know the people more personally. I observed what a struggle it was to make this transition, especially one dear gray-haired woman. I felt a lot of compassion for them, and was very sympathetic with their decision to move toward the opposite spectrum of Christianity for the sake of more unity among us. After all, if the early Christians had not written down the scriptures by hand at candlelight, preserved them, and kept the faith alive, I, myself, would never have known the story of Jesus.

One Sunday morning, the choir was singing one of their a capella parts of the Mass. I was sitting over at the side there in the balcony. As I listened to their singing, I felt something familiar in this unfamiliar surrounding. The warmth of God’s Spirit just settled down right there all around me. This was a big surprise to me. I never expected to feel the presence of the Holy Spirit here in this place.

So this was a big lesson for me. God’s Spirit can flow here as I listen to the music of the liturgy. This was the beginning of my peeking around the huge wall that I thought separated me from other denominations, only to find that there wasn’t a wall there at all. God’s Spirit lights in many places, at the mall, driving in a car, anywhere. It flies away just as easily, like a gentle dove. It won’t stay where there is discord in the heart, preferring love, peace, joy, all those fruits of the Spirit.

After the Catholic Church, I went on to work in the Baptist, Methodist, Congregational Christian (Disciples of Christ), Greek Orthodox, Presbyterian, Episcopal, Christian Science, and others I may have left out. It has all been to my benefit, for I know now that there are wonderful Christians implanted everywhere. They are like yeast in bread, and are enmeshed amongst all types of humanity shining there for all the world to see, adding salt to a tasteless world.

The favorite first hymn of the dear Catholics in Wichita is highlighted here, Holy, Holy, Holy.

Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!

Early in the morning our song shall rise to thee.

Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty,

God in three persons, blessed Trinity!

Holy, holy, holy! All the saints adore thee

casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea;

cherubim and seraphim falling down before thee,

which wert, and art, and evermore shalt be.

Holy, holy, holy! Though the darkness hide thee,

though the eye of sinful man thy glory may not see,

only thou art holy; there is none beside thee,

perfect in power, in love and purity.

Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!

All thy works shall praise thy name, in earth and sky and sea.

Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty,

God in three persons, blessed Trinity.

– Elaine@hymnserve.com Elaine is the founder of hymnserve.com. Her website provides downloadable hymn accompaniments for congregations, small groups and individuals.

We were both exhausted and weary from the past week. What made us go downtown by the capitol in Richmond so early on a Saturday morning, I don’t remember. But there we were, having parked and walking around with some welcome free time to do whatever we wanted. Then we saw the White Castle and said, “Let’s get some breakfast.”

We went in and sat on stools at two of the few counter places in the little cafe. Nobody else was in there. An older African American woman took our order. She has gotten up so early this morning and is running the place by herself, I thought. As she fried the bacon and carefully put the eggs on the griddle, we sat quietly and watched.

Above the sound of the blower above the griddle, I could faintly hear her humming. I believe it was a hymn that was very familiar to me. Whatever it was about the moment, it got my full attention, and she spoke to me a sermon that rivaled any Sunday sermon I ever heard. It got right into my heart. I marveled at her peace and contentment at her work. It pointed up my own attitude so many times about ‘work.‘ It was compared to my lack of enthusiasm about the common everyday tasks of a mother and wife that were part of my life. As she placed the plates in front of us and we began to eat, I felt humbled by her kind service to me.

That has been years ago now, but it is stamped in the memory, because it made me want to be more like her. Lord, make me to be more thankful, grateful, content, and kinder in the work that you have given me to do.

As President of University of Toledo, he had to go to Columbus periodically to meet with the other state presidents in Ohio. I was to drop him off and then do my own thing. I was out at the parking meter, preparing to get in the car and drive away from the building he had entered for his meeting when the cell phone rang. It was our son who called and said, “Have you heard?” No, because we had traveled from Toledo to Columbus without the radio on.

He said, “We are at war!”

So I just walked to the nearest place where I could see a TV–a hotel lobby where a little group of people were gathered to watch. It wasn’t long before Dan and all the others came back down without continuing the meeting and headed back to Toledo to deal with any campus issues that might threaten.

The 2nd morning after 9-11, there was an all campus memorial gathering outdoors for students and any and everyone who wanted to come. As I parked and walked toward the large quad in the middle of the campus, I began to hear choral music wafting out over the sunshiny air.

A Hymn to Help

The music was breathtaking, and as I got closer the scene became surreal. So many people had quietly gathered, but the University’s male chorus was truly inspired in singing an ancient modal hymn that had been selected by the director. I thought I knew almost any hymn they could have sung, but not this one.

God be in my head…and in my understanding,

God be in mine eyes…and in my looking,

God be in my mouth…and in my speaking,

God be in my heart…and in my thinking,

God be at mine end…and in my departing.

If ever there was a moment when God’s Spirit settled down on a place, this was one of them. I will never forget it.

Since that time, I have gone back periodically to listen to this hymn and learn it myself. If you want to hear it as sung by Kings College, Cambridge, you can use this link:

As a postscript to this story, it was the students of the University that held the day. Administrators and faculty spoke during the convocation. Then, the student body president and vice president came to the podium together to represent the students of the University. They who had never experienced an attack by a foreign power on our homeland were crushed and frightened.

So the student body president, a devout young Catholic student, began his remarks. Half way through he broke down so that he couldn’t continue. The lovely young woman vice president began without a break to read his script for him. Then when he regained his composure he began again.

He said, “I asked her beforehand to take over for me if I couldn’t finish.” So he ended his speech.

Toledo has a high Arab population as does Detroit which is only over the border into Michigan from us. When it came time for the Muslim student association president to make remarks, I could feel the tension rise in my own heart. What would he say? Would it be right? He was a wonderfully handsome young student, and by the time he finished, he had said exactly all the things that I would have wanted him to say.

But here is the heart stopper. Halfway through his speaking, the student body president stepped up beside him, put his hands on each of his shoulders and stood there until he finished the speech. It signaled to all of us such an eloquent moment,. . . we are united, and we are standing together in this time of crisis.